Madness
by pianobookspolitics
Summary: At once the darkness hit him, and he saw the Ring, only the Ring, glittering and golden in the light as it was dangling from his hand above the abyss, beautiful, so beautiful, and precious, precious to him; The destruction of the Ring the way Frodo experienced it.


**This one shot describes the destruction of the Ring the way Frodo experienced it, and his moments of madess before. It might be disturbing to young audience, which is the reason I have rated it T.**

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**Madness**

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"This is the end at last. On Mount Doom shall fall. Farewell!"

His eyes could not see anymore. There was only darkness, and fire, and the Eye, the Dark Lord, watching every slow step his weary feet took, or so it seemed to him. The whispers were growing louder and louder, as they had afore, and it took him every ounce of strength to keep his body upright and go on. He could not even cover his ears.

It would be so easy to collapse. Simply fall down, to the ground, and never rise again. The slopes of the mountain may have been hard. They may have been dirty, covered in gray dust. Frodo did not care anymore. He felt that if he just gave in to his desire to rest all would end, all would be well. No more pain, no voices in his head, nothing. Sweet peace at last.

Yet there was one voice, one single voice left, though it was faint and did not belong to him, that was telling him not to stop. He had to proceed. Bring it to an end, once and for all. Not for himself only. There was still the world, relying on him, a small hobbit of the Shire, casting the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom.

Therefore he went up the path, and finally the fire faded for a moment as he was walking through a high black entrance, replaced soon by another, closer, real. He could feel the blistering heat reaching him in the dark cavern, and the Ring could feel it as well. Then there it was his last thought to take the necklace with shaking fingers, and hold it over the fire, where it had been forged.

And at once the darkness hit him, and he saw the Ring, only the Ring, glittering and golden in the light as it was dangling from his hand above the abyss, beautiful, so beautiful, and precious, precious to him. _"__I'm yours,"_ it said. _"Why would you destroy your own? I can give you whatever you may desire. I offer it to you freely. There will not be a world of pain for you. With me, no one can exceed you power. No one can defeat you. There will be no woes and troubles! Only power. You and I, together, we will rule the world! You must merely set me on your finger. Choose whether you want to follow the path of power or the path of pain!"_

Frodo did not feel weary anymore. Staying upright did not divest him of any strength. He was to stand tall, he realized, and proud, he had always been. All he had been missing was there, in his hand. It would be mad to throw it away when it could give him power, power to overcome all pain and fear! The hobbit did not even know why he had ever wanted to destroy this Ring. It was no danger to him. So beautiful, so precious.

And it was his.

"Master!" in the distance he heard, and the cry maddened him. He did not want to be disrupted. One last time he glanced at the Ring ere he spoke, and already he knew that his precious would speak with him, and indeed there was power he felt, power that he heard in a voice as clear and loud as he had never deemed his own to be.

"I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"

At once he slipped on the Ring, and then there it was again, the Eye, right before his own, yet he did not fear it anymore, for he knew that he held the Ring and the power to subdue the Dark Lord. At last he had reached the end of all perils. Drunk by his delusion Frodo laughed, for the tower of Barad-dûr was shaking, he could feel it, by fear he thought, and it was he himself Sauron feared, he who kept the Ring, who possessed it. And the hobbit knew that all his foes were coming, all those the enemy was calling, yet they were no danger to him and his power in his mind, for so the Ring told him.

Yet suddenly there was a weight on his shoulders, one of another world, and it had his nasty fingers near his own, near the Ring. It could not yet grasp it, but Frodo at once was terrified, for he knew it was an old foe there. Had only his blade pierced its stinky neck when it had the chance!

It was then that the Ring broke its promise. Hands grasped his wrist, teeth pierced his flesh, and a searing pain ran through his hand up his arm.

And then he could see again; the embers of the mountain, the rocks beneath him, his hand, and fell to his knees clutching it, below where there had once been his finger with the Ring thrust upon it.

He could hear the cries of "Precious!" and see the dancing creature, joy in its eyes, and madness, madness that his own had held merely seconds ago, and for a split second he felt anger ere at once it was gone. Over the edge into the deep, into the fire Gollum fell, as Frodo had doomed him to. "Precious!" was his last word afore he was swallowed by the fire, and on the Ring appeared the carves of its Lord one last time ere it, too, was gone.

And as the world around them exploded at last Frodo rose, as if waking from a long evil dream.

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**Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or the direct speech borrowed from the chapter Mount Doom (book VI)  
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